


Room 140

by Anonymous



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alcohol, Drabble, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mild Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-11
Updated: 2019-01-11
Packaged: 2019-10-08 07:11:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17382035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Jongin's life consists of nothing but parties, loud music, blinking lights, messy kisses... and twilight.Twilight is the time Jongin hates the most.





	Room 140

**Author's Note:**

> This little thing is dedicated to [rawjongin](https://twitter.com/itskyungsoosday), who is the absolute sweetest and took their time to create posters for our participants.  
> I didn't know what you like, so this was a total shot in the dark, but I hope you like it nonetheless.  
> Thank you so much!
> 
> love,  
> the kaifec mods

  
From the lobby on the 14th floor, the view over the city was breathtaking. The sky looked matte, a creamy, light blue foreshadowing the sunrise.

Time stood still.

At least that's what it felt like to Jongin. Days passed by in a hurry, nights slipped by in a blur, but twilight lasted forever.

There was a stale taste in his mouth, the remnants of sweet alcohol and salty snacks having had hours to settle on his tongue and teeth in a thick layer. Disgusting. It tasted like alcohol, reminded him of puke, and made him want to brush his teeth immediately.

That would mean he'd have to go home though.

The entire floor was dead silent, though if Jongin returned to his friend's apartment and pressed his ear against the door, he might hear the muffled sounds of the last party guests fucking. Maybe. If he tried. He wasn't interested though. Sex in such a place was just sad at this point.

Jongin had had enough of it.

He was scared that he might fall asleep as soon as he sat down, but then he took a look outside, over the city so far below, and his stomach turned. He slid down to sit on the wide, wooden window sill, forehead pressed against the cool glass as he breathed deeply. Anything but throwing up again.

Darkness filled his vision, warm and itchy, coaxing him to let go and sleep, trying very hard to keep his mind from crumbling at the edges. But his brain was vicious around twilight, keen on taking revenge for the poison Jongin fed it for hours, days, months on end.

That's why he couldn't move.

That's why he felt frozen in time, in twilight. In between drunk and sober.

A look to the phone in his shaky fingers told him that he still had plenty of time until his next shift at the store. Too much time. What was he going to do?

What did people do during daytime, anyway? Working, cleaning, eating, shopping, talking to people.

Anyone Jongin would consider talking to was currently asleep, and would be, for a few more hours. And even if they awoke, he had nothing to say to them because he was aware that the only thing linking them was a colorful haze of alcohol and music.

When had it come to this?

And when had he started to dread twilight?

It was hard not to get pulled into misery, and Jongin felt like it got even harder each time he gave in.

He just felt so... useless.

And lonely.

Where did he go wrong in life?

It was pathetic, crying in some lobby in a huge, nameless apartment building, all alone, before sunrise. He heard people walk down the hallway, entering elevators and leaving for whichever pristine jobs they had. Jongin didn't have the heart to care.

He just wanted to not be miserable when the sun was up. When he was sober.

He wanted to be able to stop thinking, stop regretting and yearning and wondering what was wrong with him. He _—_

A glass of water was placed on the wood, right next to him, and Jongin flinched, roughly smearing the tears away with his sleeve. He didn't know what he was expecting, maybe one of the party guests tumbling into his vision, shrill and drunk.

For a moment, he didn't recognize the person looking down at him. Even when he did, he didn't know his name, or anything else about him. It was the man he had sometimes seen in the hallways or in the elevator. Jongin only remembered because he was handsome, and because he was around his age, but usually wore a suit or similar-looking, expensive clothes. It made Jongin feel even more inferior in comparison.

That's why he remembered.

Under his sharp, unreadable gaze, Jongin didn't know how to react. What did he want? Complain about the noise him and his friends had made? Have him kicked out because obviously, he didn't live here?

He kept staring though _—_ did he want to pull Jongin inside his apartment, exchange some quick and messy relief for a soft bed? It wouldn't be the first time someone had mistaken him for a prostitute, really, but Jongin wasn't in the mood for that. He just wanted to curl up and keep himself together.   
Before he could come up with an appropriate answer, the stranger crouched down, getting on eye level with him. From up close, he looked even cleaner, sharper, and like the exact opposite of Jongin. The stranger was almost examining him, and when Jongin remained speechless, he used his thumb to wipe away at Jongin's tears. There was a twitch in his expression, a strange nick of unhappiness or exasperation, as if Jongin was a child that had messed up yet again. He must be imagining that.

With a small sigh, the stranger reached inside his pocket for a little package of tissues, and when Jongin shakily reached for them, the stranger swiftly ignored him. With one hand cupping Jongin's face, he held him still as he dabbed at all the wet spots on his cheek.

"Why is it that you're always crying whenever I see you?" he hummed under his breath, and his voice was surprisingly high-pitched and soft, and less accusing than Jongin would have expected it to be.

Jongin didn't know what to say to that, so he only croaked out a small excuse. The simple gesture made more hot tears well up, even though Jongin really tried to keep them down, to shut his thoughts down, just until the stranger was gone.

Then his warm hands were gone and Jongin was gently, but surely pulled to his feet. He played along, if only to feel safer, in case he had to make a run for it. The stranger only pushed the glass of water in his hands, and he led him to the elevator. A good sign. The man lived on this floor. He wasn't trying to do anything. The ride down was quiet, with Jongin holding on to the glass like it was a lifeline, trying to keep his sniffling down. Even stealing glances at the other in the mirror didn't tell him anything about what he was thinking. Had he acted nice so he could kick Jongin out without resistance? If so, he shouldn't have bothered, for Jongin wouldn't have made a fuss either way.   
He shouldn't have bothered because Jongin was weak and greedy, and already missed his warm fingertips on his face.

He was still too wound up for any of this.

In the lobby, the stranger actually walked up to the reception, and Jongin stayed behind a few feet, ready to apologize for the nuisance he was being. At some point, the stranger turned around, asking him a question.

"A number between 120 and 150?"

Jongin blinked, trying to shift aside the upcoming headache. He shot him a confused, helpless look and a questioning hum.

"A number," the stranger repeated calmly. "Give me a number between 120 and 150."

"140?" Jongin asked quietly, because that number seemed close to the middle and because he genuinely didn't know where this was going.

After that, the stranger led him up a flight of stairs, to the first floor, and suddenly, Jongin grew wide-eyed, boring the heels of his feet into the ground.

"I don't want to," he began, feeling a mix of awkwardness and a very strange sense of panic he wouldn't usually feel in a situation like this.

It's because he was nice to you earlier, he thought. Or maybe because he seems so put together and sober.

The stranger only offered him a piece of plastic. A key card. Jongin hadn't even known that they rented rooms in this building. He probably wouldn't have been able to pay them, either way.

140, the card read. He'd let him choose the room number.

The stranger was waiting for him now, looking expectant but also a little hesitant, as if he expected Jongin to bolt any second now.

"I'm just bringing you to the door," he clarified calmly, and Jongin nodded. He held on to the key card tightly, as they walked down the dim corridor, neither of them bothering with the lights. The blue shimmer reaching them through the window at the end of the hallway was enough.

As soon as they reached the door with the 140 written in red paint, the stranger offered him his now opened pack of tissues, and a new pack of what must be painkillers.

"You should get some sleep," he said matter-of-factly. "It's booked until tomorrow, ten in the morning."

He hesitated after that, as if he was just as confused as Jongin about what was appropriate and what wasn't, before taking a step away from him.

"Keep fighting," he said, his voice so soft and quiet that Jongin almost didn't catch it in his messy state. "It's worth it."

 

When Jongin closed the door behind him, he didn't switch on the light. The room was small, clean and empty, and he took a moment to lean with his back against the door, listening to his heart pound and thoughts rush like a noisy river pounding in his ears.

This guy’s words had been silly, right? He didn't know him, didn't know anything about his life, and had just offered him an empty phrase.

Then why didn't it feel like an empty phrase?

Jongin couldn't remember the last time he'd fallen asleep and woken up without feeling pathetic and dirty.

He didn't show up at the apartment building again, declined offers to drink and smoke, but during the long days that followed, the stranger's words wouldn't stop resonating with him. Maybe the phrase had been empty, maybe his gestures had been nothing but forced empathy, but Jongin was desperate for anything to fill the void in his head. After letting it sink in for a few days, he decided to be brave. With a plastic bag full of groceries, he waited on the wooden window sill on floor 14, hoping his friends wouldn't spot him. Hoping that he wasn't going to be kicked out. Hoping that he hadn't mistaken bravery for idiocy.

The surprised smile on the stranger's face said otherwise.

 

He introduced himself as Minseok a while later, and Jongin felt a little tipsy despite being perfectly sober. He had almost forgotten what natural excitement felt like.


End file.
